The Orchid House (45 page)

‘Yes it is, Bill!’ Elsie was angry now. ‘Because that fool of a young master has
made
it ours by telling you!’

‘Yes. You’re right. It’s a bad business all round, but what could I do?’ Bill asked her.

‘You could have said no,’ Elsie snapped.

‘Elsie, come now, you know neither of us can refuse when we’re asked to do something for the Crawfords. They give us our livelihoods here.’

‘I’d say this goes beyond the call of duty, Bill. It makes me sick to my stomach, it does! How I’ll face Miss Olivia tomorrow, I don’t know.’

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ Bill moved to give Elsie a hug, but she pushed him away.

‘You do as you must, Bill, and pass him them letters. But as for me, I want no part in it and I don’t want to talk about it again.’ She rose from the table, slung her cup into the sink and went out into the garden, slamming the door behind her.

43

Harry heard about the demise of his cousin Hugo over lunch that day. His father imparted the news in his usual unemotional manner and, although Harry tried not to let the shock show in his demeanour, Adrienne noticed immediately. She reached across the table and put her hand on his.

‘I am sorry, Harry. You were fond of him. But there is some good news,’ she comforted. ‘Hugo’s wife, Christiana, was pregnant before he left for Africa. She has had a dear little boy and they have named him Charles, after his grandfather. You see? Life does go on.’

‘How old is the child?’ asked Harry.

‘Almost two now.’

Harry’s heart sank. A toddler could hardly run the Wharton Park Estate.

Christopher yawned loudly and Adrienne immediately stood up and went to him. ‘Time for your rest, my darling.’

‘Fuss! Fuss! Fuss!’ he complained as Adrienne helped him up and led him to the door.

‘When I have settled your father, the three of us will take coffee on the terrace together,
oui
? It is such a beautiful day again.’

‘Actually,’ said Olivia, ‘I have to go to Cromer. There’s some final paperwork that needs filling in on my Land Girls. One can’t end a war without paperwork, can one? Do you need anything, Harry?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, thank you, Olivia.’

‘By the way,’ she added, ‘a Major Chalmers telephoned here this morning. He was checking on your safe return and your health. I said you would telephone him back. The number is written down.’

‘Right,’ Harry breathed. ‘Thought I would have to report back soon.’

‘Well, I rather think your mother wants to talk to you about all that sort of thing.’ Olivia kissed him on the top of his head as she passed him. ‘There is a lot for you to catch up on here, as you can imagine.’

Adrienne joined him on the terrace for coffee a few minutes later. Harry thought he may as well get the ball rolling as soon as possible.

‘Mother, just how sick is Father?’

‘
Chéri
, I think you can see for yourself how frail he is,’ said Adrienne quietly, passing him his cup.

‘What exactly is the prognosis? I mean, Olivia said that if he was careful, he should be able to have a few more years, but …’

Adrienne took a sip of her coffee. ‘Harry, I am so sorry to be blunt when you have only been home one day, but you must know the truth.’ She sighed and reached for his hand. ‘Your father is dying. He had a serious stroke not two months ago, which has left him numb down his left side. That is why he struggles to walk.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, my Harry, I apologise that I must tell you this so soon, but we have very little time. He could leave us at any moment and, before he does, as his heir, you must speak with him and learn about running the estate.’

‘I see.’ Harry lifted his cup to his mouth, struggling to control the shaking in his hand.

‘Olivia and I have done our best, but all the paperwork and finances – your father has always taken care of them. There are many matters now outstanding,
mais
,’ Adrienne sighed, ‘there is very little money left in the estate accounts. Olivia and I have arranged the staff wages for the past few months, so I know how very bad things are.
Mon dieu
, Harry, things could not be worse.’

Harry agreed silently with his mother’s statement. He cleared his throat and asked, ‘But how can I run the estate? I am due back in the Army any day.’

‘
Non
, Harry,’ Adrienne said firmly. ‘There will be no more Army for you. You are needed here, to put the estate back on its feet. We have one hundred workers whose livelihoods depend on you. So you are to be invalided out. Your father has organised this. And I am sure you will be glad of it,
n’est-ce pas
?’

As he sank further into a morass of despair, Harry felt glad of nothing. And he resented the way decisions had been made for him. After the strictures of imprisonment, he had just started beginning to make them for himself. He had forgotten that, here, his life was not his own. He opened his mouth to speak but, realising whatever he said would sound angry and bitter, he shut it again.

Adrienne studied her son’s drawn face as he sat silently opposite her, staring off into the distance, his eyes full of misery.

‘
Chéri
, I understand how you must feel about coming home to the news of your father’s bad health. At least you have the luxury of spending some time with him before he dies. And, Harry,’ Adrienne comforted, ‘Olivia and I will help you with the task you have ahead of you. The best decision you ever made was to marry her. I have nothing but praise for her, she has been truly
magnifique
, and I do not know what I, or Wharton Park, would have done without her.’

The best decision
you
ever made, Mother
, thought Harry bitterly.

He jumped to his feet, unable to sit with her any longer. ‘I do apologise, Mother. It has all been quite a shock and I need some time alone. I will take myself off for a walk.’

‘Of course.
Je suis désolée, chéri
,’ she called after him as he walked swiftly down the steps from the terrace and away from her.

Harry walked fast, his breathing coming in short, uneven bursts. He ran from the cloying perfection of his mother’s garden and kept going until he reached open fields, swaying with green-eared corn.

He threw himself down on to the rough ground and let out a scream of agony and frustration, beating the bare earth like a toddler and crying Lidia’s name to the skies. Then he wept uncontrollably, for the girl he knew he would never stop loving and the future he had wanted so much.

Eventually, Harry turned on to his back and gazed up at the cloudless sky.

He could still go
now …
just leave … run away …

He shook his head in despair. How could he? His father was dying. From what his mother and Olivia had said, Harry knew the shock of his disappearance could hasten his father’s demise.

‘Oh, God! Oh, God!’ Harry cried out, his voice strangled with emotion.

He was trapped, well and truly. At least until after his father died.

And then what?

Could he really bear to leave his widowed mother to run the estate on her own – because Olivia would surely not stay to help her once her husband had deserted her? Adrienne simply would not manage. Therefore, to leave would mean destroying not only Wharton Park, but the lives of the many loyal workers whose future depended on it.

Harry searched the skies for any possibility of release. Perhaps the estate could be sold? But who, in this post-war era, would have the wherewithal to buy it? And besides, not only would it break his mother’s heart, but Harry knew she would fight tooth and nail against the idea. She had dedicated her life to it.

The only other possibility was to bring Lidia here to him.

But how could he? How could he divorce Olivia after all she had done, caring for both of his parents and for Wharton Park? Could he really announce that he was bringing a young girl from Thailand across the world to step into her shoes?

Harry sighed, knowing the notion was absurd. Lidia may be many things, but even he struggled to see her as mistress of an estate such as this. Besides, the cold would kill her. His Hothouse Flower would wilt and die.

Harry lay where he was for many hours, watching the dusk fall and, with it, his hope. Fate had conspired to make his plan impossible.

He could not walk away from Wharton Park. Even for Lidia.

But how was he to tell her? How could he write her a letter, informing her that everything he had promised was not to be?

Harry stood up disconsolately and made his way across the fields and back into the park. He decided that, for now, he would tell Lidia only that his father was sick and his return to Bangkok might be delayed. The finality of doing the right thing – setting her free immediately so that she could move on to a life without him – was currently beyond him.

He walked towards the hothouse and pushed the door open. It was deserted; Bill had left for the day. Harry felt his chest tighten as he breathed in the scent of Lidia. He walked down the benches until he reached the orchids. He lifted the pots and found an envelope, rather damp from the moisture of the pots hiding it. His heart quickened as he tore it open.

He choked in despair as he saw Lidia’s tiny, neat writing.

My darling Harry,

I get your letter from ship,
Ka
, and it makes me very happy. I too am missing you, and I cannot wait for your return. When I feel sad, I think about the future we will have together. And I then am happy. I wear your ring every day, and know it is symbol of our love, that one day we two will marry in front of both of our gods.

All here at hotel is well. We get some new linen and pillows for all the rooms, and have less blackout. We have many new guests now so Madame very happy.

All your friends here send best wishes to you, and everyone says they miss you playing piano in Bamboo Bar.

Please forgive my bad English writing. I am still learning, and hoping to get better. I am yours for eternity, Harry,
Ka
, your

Hothouse Flower.

X X X

‘Oh my love, my love …’ Harry groaned, cradling the letter to his chest. ‘How can I live like this? How can I live without you?’

He slumped on to the stool and re-read the letter, thinking surely death would be preferable to the way he felt now. Just then he heard footsteps and the door opening at the other end of the hothouse. Seeing that it was Olivia, he swiftly secreted the letter in his trouser pocket as he stood up.

She walked towards him, her face a picture of concern.

‘I have been looking for you everywhere, darling. Your mother said you had taken yourself off after lunch and she hadn’t seen you since.’

‘No. I needed – some time,’ he offered weakly.

‘I am so awfully sorry, Harry. I gather your mother told you the truth about your father.’

‘Yes, she did.’ Harry was glad to use this as an excuse for his red eyes and the heartbreak which must be written on his face.

She tentatively opened her arms to him. ‘May I hold you?’

Harry did not resist her embrace. He needed to feel the physical comfort of another human being. He cried like a baby against her shoulder. She soothed him gently, telling him she would be here, she loved him dearly and would help him as much as he needed.

Harry was lost in his own grief, his pain reaching to the very depths of his soul.

‘I must say goodbye,’ he muttered. ‘How can I bear it? How can I bear it?’

‘I know,’ comforted Olivia, wanting to weep for him. ‘Oh, my darling, I know.’

In Changi, Harry had had plenty of practice at merely existing, and over the next few weeks, it was put to good use. He spent mornings with his father in the study that would soon be his, going through every aspect of the vast management task that was the Wharton Park Estate. Father and son spent more time in each other’s company than they ever had before. But there was a poignancy to this shared time, as they both knew the reason behind it.

Harry realised he had never appreciated the complexity of his father’s role. As he learnt what it entailed, his admiration for his father grew.

‘The golden rule – even if you have staff to manage such things as the accounts and the farm – is to be in control. You must check the books and take a horse every week to ride across your land. You understand what I am telling you, my boy?’

‘Yes, Father,’ Harry answered, currently flummoxed by a list of figures in the ledger in front of him. Arithmetic had never been his strong point.

‘You have to be hands-on, and make sure every worker at Wharton Park knows that you are. Your great-grandfather nearly lost this house by being far more interested in the ladies and his port than he was in the estate. The staff ran riot. Remember, a good leader leads from the front, and your Army years will have stood you in good stead. I am proud of you, my boy,’ he nodded emphatically, as if to make up for all the years he had never said it.

So, in the afternoons, Harry would take a horse and ride across the estate. He learnt about the crops they needed for the following year, and machinery that needed replacing. He counted cattle and pigs, and visited tenant farmers, noticing some had sneakily extended the boundaries allocated to them on their deeds.

Harry appointed Jim, Mrs Combe’s son, as his new farm manager. The lad had grown up on the estate and watched his father do the same job before him. Jim had no experience managing people, but he was young, bright and glad of the opportunity. Following his own father’s advice, Harry felt it was most important to find someone he could trust.

Late into the night, Harry studied the accounts. It gave him something to focus on, and a reason not to join Olivia in the bedroom before she was asleep. He realised very quickly that the estate finances were even worse than his mother had thought.

By the end of the summer, Harry felt he knew every hectare of the estate, how much income Wharton Park could expect from selling the remaining crops and cattle, and what had to be spent on replacing machinery and restocking. Olivia had also pointed out that some of the workers’ cottages were in urgent need of repair, but that would have to wait. The big house itself needed thousands spent on it.